


live up to today

by days4daisy



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Extra Treat, M/M, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Geralt's mouth gives a minute twitch upward. A lapse that happens often in the druid's company.
Relationships: Ermion | Mousesack/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 17
Kudos: 31
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	live up to today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dust_motes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_motes/gifts).



> Hope you have a nice Chocolate Box!

When Geralt exits the tavern, a familiar figure is patting Roach's neck. 

"As handsome as ever, this one," Mousesack greets. He speaks without looking, only needing steps through the mud to identify his company.

The rain ceased an hour ago, but a chill lingers in the air like unwelcome company. A gray sky bears down on them as spare drops of rainwater slip through Roach's mane.

Roach gives the druid's hand a friendly nudge. Geralt isn't the only one with memories, and Roach's are pleasant. A calm, healing hand setting a cracked hoof along the rocky coast of Skellige. It was piss poor weather that day too, but what Geralt remembers most is trust. He trusted Mousesack that day and wasn't disappointed.

He trusts Mousesack now too, despite their more complicated circumstances.

"You're alive," Geralt acknowledges. 

Mousesack turns towards him. His palace robes are dirty and worn. No significant blood beyond scrapes and scabs. Impressive given the rubble that remains of the jewel of the North.

"I looked for you," Mousesack says, "in the prison cell, but you were gone." His hand clenches against Roach's side. Still bothered by the cold, it seems.

Geralt sighs. "The more you talk about fate with this girl, the more destiny sees fit to keep us apart." He frowns. "Did she get out?"

It's far from the first troubled look he's seen from Mousesack over the years, but it is the most grave. Worse than the plague years. Worse, too, than when Mousesack warned of the dangers of ignoring destiny.

"I don't know," Mousesack says. "A diversion was necessary to secure my escape. 'Parlour tricks' as you used to call them. They took me, and they spoke of finding her. She's gone, Geralt. Out there somewhere, and I must get to her first."

Geralt shakes his head. "Still slave to a crown that doesn't exist any longer." It's a cheap barb, but he pities Mousesack. Pities all who crumbled under destiny's weight despite the warnings all gave.

Mousesack gives him a bitter smile. "I made a promise," he says, "to her grandmother. It was the last thing I said to her, Geralt. My final vow to a dying queen."

Geralt hums because he understands. And with understanding, his own path is set.

"We'll leave tomorrow," Geralt says, "when the sun warms our way a bit." He eyes the flexing fingers still resting on Roach's side. "Your blood is too thin for the cold, old man."

Mousesack chuckles. "My bones, not my blood. That, I assure you, is hot as that of the man I once was."

"Hmm." Geralt's mouth gives a minute twitch upward. A lapse that happens often in the druid's company. "Well, I booked a room at the inn. Warmer than here, in any case."

"Your way with words is masterful as ever." Mousesack allows Roach a final pat, a fond smile on his face. "I don't know how I found you," he admits. "I've never run in such a way, Geralt. There are times when all men must flee, but this…"

Geralt sets a hand on Mousesack's back, knotted with lingering tension and regret. "You found me," he says, "and tomorrow we find her."

It is a sensation impossible to describe, touched in fellowship after days drawn by rope at the back of a cart. Knees skinned as he stumbled. Limbs burning with fatigue, dizzy and nauseous, stomach gnawing itself in hunger. Thoughts of ending himself with his own binding in his head.

After this, the touch of an old friend overwhelms. Geralt's touch, whom 'friend' has never seemed a good enough title for.

"Come on then," Geralt says. "I won't have your ancient joints locking up like some rusted prison gate." His hand moves from Mousesack's shoulder to cup the nape of his neck. Graying hair curtains Geralt's fingers, and Mousesack feels the warmth of his skin. The concern in a gentle squeeze that the witcher won't voice.

But Mousesack knows. Much as Geralt wears his sour complexion like a badge of honor, he feels, and Mousesack is grateful.

"It's a damn shame," Mousesack says, "that time has seen fit to give you all the fun at my expense." He takes Geralt's wrist with a squeeze of thanks. His hand is unsteady from more than the cold. 

It's unfathomable, all that they've lost. But unimaginable too how much there is to lose.

Geralt frowns at him, gold eyes like the fire that rained down on Cintra. He leans close. "Share my bed tonight, old friend," he says.

Geralt kisses Mousesack before he can answer. He is firm yet chaste. Then, he waits, standing close.

"After I wash," Mousesack says, speaking against Geralt's lips. "Thaw these old bones so I can better live up to the memory of what once was."

"Hmm." Geralt's voice rumbles on Mousesack's skin. "Live up to today," he says. "I need nothing else."

Geralt eases away from him, expression serious as ever. But there are promises in his eyes as he moves past to post Roach. Roach gives a comfortable head shake at regaining attention.

Mousesack watches Geralt too. Realizes, smiling, that the Witcher is better with words than he seems.


End file.
